When It Hurts So Bad
by Beyond The Mat
Summary: Randy loses control, could've lost his life, and can only turn to Ric Flair to help. Just like in his Evolution days, he had to turn to the Legend to help him go on...but it's at a steep price. Randy Orton, Ric Flair, Sam and the introduction of Tyler
1. Chapter 1

_It's been a year since their divorce was final...but unlike the publicity bios, they didn't meet in 2003. No, they met a very long time before. __A little bit of math shows that Tyler Keith Speno was born at the end of Samantha's freshman year of high school. Sam and Randy were 14 and 15, respectively, when Tyler was born._

_The Spenos took charge. They knew their daughter was far too young to be a mother and had taken the steps to legally adopt Tyler, and change his last name to Speno. While all of the neighbors knew Sam had given birth, Tyler was treated as Michael and Michele's son, and more or less as Sam and A.J.'s brother._

_It's something that wasn't much spoken about for the child's privacy. Tyler is well aware of who his birth parents are and while there is an awareness, he can't seem to actually grasp the fact that Randy Orton and Sam are his real parents, given that he was raised almost like Sam's brother. There is the occasional pang of jealousy when Tyler hears of their 'firstborn' child, Alanna Marie. Firstborn daughter, maybe, but not firstborn child. That's Tyler.  
_

_Randy has no legal rights to Tyler, and hasn't had much influence on him, but this might explain why Randy is beyond unable to get over his ex-wife; they've been together half their lives and there are actually two children involved. Sam does still love Randy, but can't trust him as far as she can throw him, right now. Since the following event happened, there is a reconciliation on the horizon, but Samantha has -NO- idea about what happened after she and Randy ended the phonecall on this night._

July 18/19, 2010

Randy Orton listened as the phone rang, running his hand over his face a few times. He lit a cigarette as he waited to see if she'd pick up or if he'd get fed to voicemail. After he got her voicemail, hung up on it and called again.

Samantha Speno groaned when she heard the phone then picked it up "Hello?"

"Samantha." Randy Orton heard her voice and leaned against the building. His ass was kicked from the match, he was tired, and she could probably hear it in his voice.

"Randy what do you want?"

"You didn't have to go out of your way to tell me you're not my girl." Randy could only be described as having a tone of defeat, a note of remorse in his voice. "I know it every day I wake up and every night I go to sleep."

Sam had an edge in her voice. "That's what you're calling me up for this late at night? Really Randy? You fucked up so don't come crying to me about how hurt you are. I've been hurting longer then you."

Randy was quiet and heard the hurt in her voice. He knew he had no right making the call.  
"You won't even let me try to fix things, will you, Sammy? Your mind's made up, and that's that, right?"

Sam said, tersely, "I never said that but it's going to take time and you don't seem to get that. How many times is it going to take for you to understand Randy? If it takes longer then me having to say it twice then maybe I should be done with you and move on."

Randy Orton had never questioned her expenses, given more than she asked, has basically jumped through flaming hoops to try to make things comfortable and civil as possible. Now he's thinking she was out with a guy.

"But I love you," he said quietly. "I'm standing outside in the middle of the night in fucking Omaha Nebraska, at almost 2 in the morning telling you this."

Samantha felt tears in her eyes when she heard Randy say that. "If you loved me so much you would wait"

Randy told her quietly, "I'll wait, Sam, but just tell me there's a chance, 'cause you took the time to..correct something I said." Randy Orton had tears in his own eyes and he hadn't even had a drink yet. She knows when he drinks. "Sammy, you there?" he asked, after an awkward silence.

Samantha held the phone, and bit her bottom lip as she started to think "I...I don't know. You hurt me so much Randy, why should I let you back in my life?"

Randy felt his breath catch and used the building pretty much as support when he heard that she didn't know. It took him a minute to find his voice. " 'cause I love you, and I know what I'm missing, I know I fucked up and if you let me, I'd make you happy. I promise." His voice cracked like he'd just hit puberty.

Sam reminded him in her gentle yet hurt way, "You promised you would make me happy before. I married you because I thought I would be happy and I wasn't. The only happy thing that came out of that marriage was our amazing daughter. I just...I just don't know if I can do there with you again Randy. I love you but I don't know."

He pleaded with her. "Sammy, I was stupid." Now she'd hear that he choked on a sob. He didn't fake that shit and she knew it. "You know we did have some happiness. You can't say we didn't..please don't say we didn't. I know I fucked up. I know it more than I know anything else. Please, Sam." He paused to compose himself. "Ever since I left Missouri...please, Sammy. I can't do this without you anymore. This is killing me...this is fucking killing me."

Samantha Speno felt tears rolling down her eyes "And you don't think it's killing me? Huh? How do you think I feel? Happy as a clam? Well guess what, it's the exact opposite from that. All you care about yourself and I'm so sick of dealing with that."

Sam continued after a deep breath and an exhale. "Randy...I just I did this time away from you. I'm sorry but I do."

He was dumbstruck. "I love you. How can you say that? I don't care about me. I care about you and the baby. You've had a YEAR away from me. Baby, -please-." He stood there, physically shaking, in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Sam got quietly angry again. "Well where was that care during the marriage? There wasn't much that's for sure. A year just isn't enough and if you can't understand that maybe I should keep you away from for longer."

That did him in.

Randy couldn't even speak having heard what she just said. He couldn't put words together in the face of that threat.

Samantha sniffled as she wiped away a tear from her eye. This was so hard for her. She could tell it was hard for Randy too.

"I.. ok..whatever you...I can't do this. I need you." Randy said, and felt himself slide down the building, in the alley, sitting like a fucking vagrant, holding his phone for dear fucking life.

Sam heard his tone shift. "Randy just...why are you doing this? Why? You know I need time away from you and you call me up with this? I just...I can't be with you if you're trying to guilt me into this. It's going to take a while for me to want you or need you in my life. Please just understand that." She tried to find the best way to say it. "I love you I really do. I just can't be with you now."

Randy Orton sniffled and probably said something like ok, but it wasn't ok. "Not trying to guilt you, swear to God."

Sam disputed that. "Well that's what it sounds like."

He tried to explain. "It's not. I just love you so much. I love Alanna more than anything in the world. I just..." Randy Orton pretty much just loses it quietly and tells her to go ahead and hang up, because he's not her problem.

Sam wasn't having that. "What Randy? I'm not hanging up. You called me to talk we're going to talk."

Randy said quietly, "I can't do this anymore." He wiped his swollen eye with the flat of his hand.

She didn't quite know what he meant. "You can't do what?"

"Can't keep going on like this. You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

To anyone outside the marriage, maybe what Sam said next seemed harsh, but they hadn't lived within her marriage. "You messed it up Randy not me. I put up with you for so long. I...was hurt so many times. You can't make me go back to you because of one phone call like this. I'm sorry I may be hurting you for once but I need my time away from you. You may or may not understand that but that's what I need."

He started to feel himself tense and the feeling of defeat began to creep through him. "So..when I came back for her birthday..that did nothing to bring you and me closer?" He sounded broken, and was.

Sam hesitated a minute. She loved him, but she couldn't walk on eggshells forever. If she didn't tell him specifically, she'd do both of them harm. "Only a little bit. It was still one visit just one. How do you expect me to forgive you for everything you've done to me after one visit? I can't do that Randy I just can't. No matter how much you want me to I can't." It hurt her to say these things, to relive some of it and to try and reconcile those feelings with her love for him. She started to cry harder and ran a hand through her hair as she leaned back on her bed.

Randy heard her crying like that, because of him, and pretty much, for lack of a better way to describe the emotion, felt like he wanted to die. "I figured I gave you your space. I did what I could...I tried to give you room, never questioned any decisions you made..never drunk-dialed you...I can't do this...We probably would've had a another baby by now...I've fucked everything up." He choked on his words. "I am so sorry, Sammy."

Samantha gulped hard as she listened to Randy. "You should be".

It was pure anguish in his voice when he said, "I AM." His forehead was in his free hand and his skull felt like it was going to split. "I just...want you to know one thing. It wasn't necessary for you to point out you're not my girl because that's the one thing I know more than anything in the world, and I hate myself for it." He shuddered hard. "I love you and I need you..you say you love me, but you sure as shit don't need me and you don't want me around." He wiped hard at his eye that wasn't blackened and tried to calm his breathing.

Sam was exasperated. "I already said sorry for that if you don't want to accept it fine! Go ahead and don't. You think that hurting you once is going to make us even? Well it doesn't. We're far from even. It's going to take time before I want you around."

It sounded to him like she wanted to go an eye for an eye. "Hurting me once?" he repeated, making sure he heard her right.

Sam told him exactly where they stood. "I don't know how much more I can say that before I say fuck it and end things with you forever"

It was then that Randy began to realize that Sam didn't understand that he hurt himself more than she could've, and he knows that.

She continued. "Yes once. I've only hurt you really bad once and you've hurt me a million more times than that."

So...she was keeping score. He responded to the threat with stunned silence and a gasp that caught in his throat, a sound that might've terrified her because she knows what he's capable of. He couldn't believe what she said and pretty much heard that she -is- saying fuck it and ending things with him forever.

Sam froze when she heard the gasp, and said in a pleading near-whisper, "Randy please do something for me and don't hurt yourself. Please"

He was distant when he said "I love you. And I love our little girl...and Ty." He could just about get the words out.

"I know," Sam reassured. "I never doubted that."

He listened to her voice, and he was crushed. He has perceived that she's told him it's over. "Never stopped," he said, regarding his love for them.

Sam admitted, "I never stopped loving you either," then added, "I just can't be with you right now."

He felt bile in his throat. "Or ever, r-right?" He reached the point where he was stuttering. "Sh-she gets up early, Sam. Go to sleep." He did that so she didn't have to answer his question.

She did answer, though, as she looked down. "I...don't know...alright, Randy...but if I do hang up please...please don't do anything to hurt yourself. I wouldn't be able to live if I knew you hurt yourself because of me"

Randy closed his eyes as Sammy just sealed his fate. She can't be with him now or ever. That's that. He choked out a goodbye before hitting end on the phone, "Night, Sammy."

Sam threw the phone at the wall before she broke down into tears. Randy got up in the alley, blinded by what could be called a breakdown of everything, and found his way back to the hotel.

The next thing he knew, Ric had taken him to the hospital.


	2. Chapter 2

Ric Flair never expected the phonecall he'd gotten and it was a very good thing he'd been in Omaha, Nebraska, of all places. He hadn't gone to see the WWE show, that's for sure. He'd gone scouting for TNA in a high school gym at an indy show where maybe 100 people had shown up.

He'd gotten a phonecall from one very woozy Randal Orton. Now, Randy and Ric had quite the history. Ric had seen Randy grow up, and had played a big part in shaping the man Randy became. Of course, bad came with the good but Ric had worked his best with the raw talent he'd been given. The rest of the credit, of course, would go to Bob Orton for raising him, and for Vince McMahon and Hunter for helping to shape him.

Ric's values were a bit different than most people's. Ric's life was dictated by money. If something paid him, he'd do it. Randy hadn't been as attracted to the paychecks, and somehow Randy outearned Ric in a matter of a few years' time. But sometimes in Randy's darkest hours, it was Ric he turned to, and Ric knew exactly why.

Randy couldn't turn to Hunter, or Vince, or he'd end up released from his contract.

Randy couldn't turn to Dave because he'd alienated Dave.

Randy shouldn't turn to Ric, but he was the least of the evils and this time, sheer luck is what allowed Ric to assist.

This "Viper" that the wrestling world was eating up and loving as the newest babyface of the World Wrestling Entertainment Organization was relatively close to Randal's actual personality, but then again, the cocky "Legend Killer" had been, too. In Ric's heart (believe it or not, he did have a heart), Randal would always be the big kid in Evolution who Evolution ultimately turned against.

Ric had fielded two of these calls, prior to tonight, from Randal in the last four years. The first time, Dave had come with him. That's when the wedge between Randal and Dave had occurred: Dave believed from that point on that Randy was "a spoiled fucking brat who appreciates nothing. Nothing more than a fucking drama queen who thinks the world revolves around him. I kill myself for this business. He's born into it, bred for it, has everything, and does this?"

That was in the spring of 2006, shortly after he was suspended by World Wrestling Entertainment for "unprofessional conduct," and a few months before he was suspended a second time, in August of 2007, for failing a drug test. The St. Louis hospital that Randy was taken to was also where Mrs. Orton, his mother, was employed as a nurse, so records were easy to "go missing" once he'd been treated. Bob Orton told the local press and the wrestling newsletters that he had spoken with his son, and Randy said he had no idea where this rumor started.

The second time was in April 2007, when Randy had been sent home from the European Tour. Initially, WWE tried to smokescreen it by saying Randy had a stomach flu, but word got out that he'd done over $50,000 in damage to a hotel room. What hadn't gotten out is that it was Ric and a few trainers that had gotten Randy to a local hospital to have his stomach pumped. The kid liked pills when feeling that desperate and knew what concoctions to take to have calls that would be more than close calls if he hadn't been found in time, both times.

Of course, Randy knew concoctions, though. Steroids had been a part of his life from the moment he'd begun training as a wrestler. It was Ric who showed Randy the best injection sites, and Bob had some very good connections. Only when those connections dried up did Randy end up getting embroiled in the Signature Pharmacy fiasco.

But tonight, the call had been unexpected, and Ric went.

This time, however, there was no sense of WWE loyalty, not that Ric was exactly a loyal fellow. Randy would have two choices to make when he woke up, because not only would he wake up, but he'd pull through and the traces of the records would be done away with, because Ric had that sort of influence in the wrestling world sometimes, and Omaha was full of wrestling addicts, many who worked at the hospital...

Randy could either pay for Ric's silence, or maybe consider coming to TNA. He sat beside the gurney where the curtain was pulled to shield the patient and visitor from curious eyes. He closed his own eyes as Randy slept after the stomach pumping.

Randy started waking up, remembering things in blurs.

He remembered Ric getting him into the rental car. Apparently Ric had taken a cab to find Randy. He remembered Ric getting Randy's bag together, and he remembered trying not to lean too hard on the 61-year old to get down the stairs and out of the hotel. He remembered how red Ric's face had been struggling with Randy's bag.

He remembered Sam's words and the paralyzing fucking -grief- he felt. He'd lost her, he fucking knew it, she was done with him. She might say she loved him but love wasn't enough for her. He'd tried. He'd bought their daughter over 20 grand worth of things for her birthday...that's a hell of a birthday. It wasn't done to impress Sam or be overly lavish..it was just things that his salary allowed him to get his daughter. But he'd also bought Sam a little something and these things didn't seem to earn back any of her trust or anything. He tried. As much as he was humanly able to, he tried.

Hawaii was coming up but he was sure she'd cancel on him now that she'd told him it was over. That's when he'd, after picking himself up out of the fucking alley he'd gone down to talk to her, after he'd left Arthur's, got back to his hotel room and felt such a physical pain unlike any he'd ever had in his life. If anybody asked him, the only way he would be able to describe it would be to say that if he had to guess how a heart attack felt, a couple of those at once. It really had been a major anxiety attack as well as a wave of depression that knocked him on his ass, and his response to that was to open up his bottle of Xanax, quantity 180 when filled, so about 150 in the bottle, and swallow with a swig of water.

Stupid, yes. Done before, yes. Chickened out at the very last minute? Sadly, yes.

He called Ric. He wouldn't have called the Cowboy. The Cowboy was getting up in years and to know about something like this would kill him. His uncle Barry could be off with the fucking Dalai Lama or somebody, for all Randy knew. Nathan was, in Randy's eyes, still a kid. Plus, the Cowboy and Nathan were in MO. Ric could be anywhere, and that's who he called.

He remembered the stomach pumping. That was fucking awful. The tube went up his nose, down his throat and into his stomach, and he could feel that when they took it out, they'd scraped him. He'd probably see blood in the tissue for the next week when he'd blow his nose. His throat felt raw and his stomach felt like he'd taken one too many of the ladder hits at MITB.

Just like the last couple times this had been done to him, he'd been placed on his left side with his chin down. He'd been just conscious enough to help out the doctors, by holding his chin to his chest at a certain point and by swallowing on command to assist in sending the tubing down the esophagus and into the stomach. It was at that moment that he wished he never called Ric..it fucking hurt. Had he been completely unconscious, the doctor and nurse would've probably gotten the tubing in in under a minute. It would've been easier. No way could he give a guess on how long it took, the pumping of his stomach..they kept doing it until the contents ran clear. And it hurt like hell. And he'd still have to drive to RAW, and act like this never happened.

"Ric, no," he'd said as the nurse told them that Randy (or, in this case, "Reid Flair," as Ric had admitted Randy under Ric's son's name, even though much of the emergency personnel knew that this was Randy Orton) would have to be held for 24-hour observation and then a psychiatric had changed hands. That's where it got blurry. But Ric made the observation period and the need for a psych consult to go away.

Randy's eyes opened and he saw that his phone was in Ric's hands, and Ric's eyes were closed. He looked at him, could see Ric had aged since they'd seen one another last, and what was Randy going to do? He had to trust Ric. It was like making a deal with the devil but there were no other options, especially since this devil knew what the hell he was doing.

"What's this going to cost me, Ric?" Randy asked hoarsely. The tube had really done a job on him and talking and swallowing, even breathing hurt.

Ric, at least, was upfront about it. "Well, kid, it's not a little sum we're talkin' about. To buy you out of the 24 hour hold and the psych evaluation, that cost me a fortune, and of course, there'll have to be something for my time and trouble. You're doing well these days. A lot better than me."

He was considering asking for Randy to influence Owen Cena to the TNA side, but quickly shot that idea down, instead going for the cash. Ric was being sued for $40,000 from Ring of Honor, had a large bankruptcy case that had gone through and still had some other debts.

"At least a million, Randal. At least."

Randy winced, from swallowing on a raw throat and because of the number Ric pitched. While Randy, yes, made in excess of two mil a year, it wasn't like he saw all of that in cash.

For those who don't know, WWE talent aren't like people who hold regular jobs. They don't punch in and out and get paid by the hour or any of that shit. Nope. They're "independent contractors." And by being independent contractors, they pay their expenses as they go. Some guys, like Randy, got liberal reimbursement. Other guys, say, like Zack Ryder, had to pay everything out of pocket and didn't get things like hotels and flights on the WWE's reimbursed dime.

There was Maria Kanellis, whose first year in WWE had a salary of $45K. She spent almost twice that in road expenses and ring gear and hairstylists..it was crazy. You had to spend money in this business to get anywhere.

Ric was a classic example of living beyond one's means.

Randy had his investments and things but didn't have a million liquid cash like that, not that he could just say "Here, Ric," and hand him a big-ass cardboard check like Publishers Fucking Clearing House Sweepstakes or some shit.

He also knew Ric was extorting him.

"Ric...please be reasonable. I can't give you that all at once. I can probably free up about a quarter of that without anybody noticing. Hell, IRS laws say you can't give anybody more than 11 grand a year without being gift taxed on it."

How Randy knew to say that while laying there after having his stomach pumped, he didn't know. He was exhausted and he was indebted to Ric,but a million dollars was something Randy couldn't do. Not that easily.

Ric stared coldly at Randal citing IRS gift law. If Ric knew anything, it was how to avoid IRS taxes. (Although he'd had trouble with them, he was learning more about how to avoid trouble with them.)

"You fail to realize that the IRS also says that you can begift anyone up to 1 million dollars as a one time gift during your lifetime without penalty. So stop fucking with me and tell me what you can do for me." Gone was the caring nature and on was the threat of telling everyone who'd listen what happened tonight.

The nurse came in and offered Randy something for the pain, and he took it gladly. It was Dilaudid, his drug of choice when in the hospital, and it killed the rawness of his throat and allowed the edges to soften. When it was shot in through his IV, it actually, once it hit, made his abs radiate for a few seconds, from deep inside, like someone stoked a fire. Then it would hit the back of his neck in a heat that made his eyes roll back and his head tilt. At moments like that, he understood how guys like Jeff Hardy could get hooked on shit.

When the wave subsided, he looked at Ric and assessed the situation while exhausted and under medication.

He couldn't offer to do a TNA appearance, taping or endorsement or Vince would fucking kill him.

He couldn't offer Ric merch, to sell, because that too could violate WWE guidelines.

It had to be cash.

"I can come up with 250 liquid..and if I sell my stock, I can get about the same. A half-mil is all I can do, Ric. Please." He knew Ric wasn't fucking around, but neither was Randy. He wasn't going to sell off any more assets besides his portfolio, nor was he going to alert the IRS or Sam or anyone. For Ric to be instantly flush with cash, word could get out. A half-mil was a lot less devastating than a full mil. "I could sell it or just transfer it to you."

Ric thought about the offer. He didn't think long, though, because part of him did have to consider that Randal was 30 years old now. He was no longer the 24 year old big kid of Evolution that he was molding and could manipulate as easily. While Randal's weakness was his instability, just like his uncle Barry, Randal was also a little smarter than he gave himself credit for.

Randal could also afford a good attorney and go to the police and get Ric charged with extortion, if he wanted to. Of course, everything could and would go public then, and then the "Viper" wouldn't be as bankable.

Ric accepted the offer in the form of:

"You'll wire the money before you check in at the arena in Tulsa. Then you'll transfer the stock to me and send me the confirmation numbers of both. If this isn't done by 5:00 in the afternoon..which gives you just around 12 hours, Randal, I'm going to Vince before RAW goes live."

Randy nodded his acceptance of the offer and drifted to sleep.

He slept hard for 4 hours, and come 10am, he was being assisted back into his clothes. Ric had taken a cab out of there, and Randy, technically, shouldn't have been allowed to drive, but Ric had taken care of that, too.

Money sure as hell -does- talk.

The IVs were capped off, then removed, the hospital bracelet bearing Reid's name and pertinent details cut off with a scissor, and Randy was on his way in the rental car. His eyes were bleary, even though the eye Dave punched no longer hurt thanks to the pain shot that still had some lingering effects. His cell was dead and he didn't have the car charger with him, so it was a very quiet ride until he reached Tulsa 5 hours later.

Randy checked into the hotel like a zombie. He should've gone to the arena first..it was already 3pm, but had to get a shower and try to get some life back into him. His phone was also charging for a little while.

He did his damnedest to not remember the events leading up to the hospital, and by now, the pain shot did wear off. The bleariness was from little rest, a lot of stress, and the fact that he was now late for RAW.

He had the app installed on his phone to move money but this was a sum he had to go to a bank in person to do. The stock, he could move with his phone, so did that as he was driving.

There was a bank branch on the way and Randy did have to sign some documents to make sure the money got wired.

He then notified Ric.

And with that, he'd go to the arena, possibly catch hell for being late and just look at the hell-giver blankly. The sleeves that Ric found offensive-looking and "defiling" or whatever to Randy's body hid the IV bruises.

He was in the locker room with his bag, and sat on the bench for a few minutes, trying to get his head together and yet, at the same time, not think.

(end)

Ric Flair never expected the phonecall he'd gotten and it was a very good thing he'd been in Omaha, Nebraska, of all places. He hadn't gone to see the WWE show, that's for sure. He'd gone scouting for TNA in a high school gym at an indy show where maybe 100 people had shown up.

He'd gotten a phonecall from one very woozy Randal Orton. Now, Randy and Ric had quite the history. Ric had seen Randy grow up, and had played a big part in shaping the man Randy became. Of course, bad came with the good but Ric had worked his best with the raw talent he'd been given. The rest of the credit, of course, would go to Bob Orton for raising him, and for Vince McMahon and Hunter for helping to shape him.

Ric's values were a bit different than most people's. Ric's life was dictated by money. If something paid him, he'd do it. Randy hadn't been as attracted to the paychecks, and somehow Randy outearned Ric in a matter of a few years' time. But sometimes in Randy's darkest hours, it was Ric he turned to, and Ric knew exactly why.

Randy couldn't turn to Hunter, or Vince, or he'd end up released from his contract.

Randy couldn't turn to Dave because he'd alienated Dave.

Randy shouldn't turn to Ric, but he was the least of the evils and this time, sheer luck is what allowed Ric to assist.

This "Viper" that the wrestling world was eating up and loving as the newest babyface of the World Wrestling Entertainment Organization was relatively close to Randal's actual personality, but then again, the cocky "Legend Killer" had been, too. In Ric's heart (believe it or not, he did have a heart), Randal would always be the big kid in Evolution who Evolution ultimately turned against. (It would be suggested that the short video be watched for a sense of what's in Ric's mind. It's an abbreviated clip that some might not be completely familiar with, regardless of the title. Be sure to note the genuine affection Dave Batista had for Randal at about the 42 second moment.)

Ric had fielded two of these calls, prior to tonight, from Randal in the last four years. The first time, Dave had come with him. That's when the wedge between Randal and Dave had occurred: Dave believed from that point on that Randy was "a spoiled fucking brat who appreciates nothing. Nothing more than a fucking drama queen who thinks the world revolves around him. I kill myself for this business. He's born into it, bred for it, has everything, and does this?"

That was in the spring of 2006, shortly after he was suspended by World Wrestling Entertainment for "unprofessional conduct," and a few months before he was suspended a second time, in August of 2007, for failing a drug test. The St. Louis hospital that Randy was taken to was also where Mrs. Orton, his mother, was employed as a nurse, so records were easy to "go missing" once he'd been treated. Bob Orton told the local press and the wrestling newsletters that he had spoken with his son, and Randy said he had no idea where this rumor started.

The second time was in April 2007, when Randy had been sent home from the European Tour. Initially, WWE tried to smokescreen it by saying Randy had a stomach flu, but word got out that he'd done over $50,000 in damage to a hotel room. What hadn't gotten out is that it was Ric and a few trainers that had gotten Randy to a local hospital to have his stomach pumped. The kid liked pills when feeling that desperate and knew what concoctions to take to have calls that would be more than close calls if he hadn't been found in time, both times.

Of course, Randy knew concoctions, though. Steroids had been a part of his life from the moment he'd begun training as a wrestler. It was Ric who showed Randy the best injection sites, and Bob had some very good connections. Only when those connections dried up did Randy end up getting embroiled in the Signature Pharmacy fiasco.

But tonight, the call had been unexpected, and Ric went.

This time, however, there was no sense of WWE loyalty, not that Ric was exactly a loyal fellow. Randy would have two choices to make when he woke up, because not only would he wake up, but he'd pull through and the traces of the records would be done away with, because Ric had that sort of influence in the wrestling world sometimes, and Omaha was full of wrestling addicts, many who worked at the hospital...

Randy could either pay for Ric's silence, or maybe consider coming to TNA. He sat beside the gurney where the curtain was pulled to shield the patient and visitor from curious eyes. He closed his own eyes as Randy slept after the stomach pumping.

Randy started waking up, remembering things in blurs.

He remembered Ric getting him into the rental car. Apparently Ric had taken a cab to find Randy. He remembered Ric getting Randy's bag together, and he remembered trying not to lean too hard on the 61-year old to get down the stairs and out of the hotel. He remembered how red Ric's face had been struggling with Randy's bag.

He remembered Sam's words and the paralyzing fucking -grief- he felt. He'd lost her, he fucking knew it, she was done with him. She might say she loved him but love wasn't enough for her. He'd tried. He'd bought their daughter over 20 grand worth of things for her birthday...that's a hell of a birthday. It wasn't done to impress Sam or be overly lavish..it was just things that his salary allowed him to get his daughter. But he'd also bought Sam a little something and these things didn't seem to earn back any of her trust or anything. He tried. As much as he was humanly able to, he tried.

Hawaii was coming up but he was sure she'd cancel on him now that she'd told him it was over. That's when he'd, after picking himself up out of the fucking alley he'd gone down to talk to her, after he'd left Arthur's, got back to his hotel room and felt such a physical pain unlike any he'd ever had in his life. If anybody asked him, the only way he would be able to describe it would be to say that if he had to guess how a heart attack felt, a couple of those at once. It really had been a major anxiety attack as well as a wave of depression that knocked him on his ass, and his response to that was to open up his bottle of Xanax, quantity 180 when filled, so about 150 in the bottle, and swallow with a swig of water.

Stupid, yes. Done before, yes. Chickened out at the very last minute? Sadly, yes.

He called Ric. He wouldn't have called the Cowboy. The Cowboy was getting up in years and to know about something like this would kill him. His uncle Barry could be off with the fucking Dalai Lama or somebody, for all Randy knew. Nathan was, in Randy's eyes, still a kid. Plus, the Cowboy and Nathan were in MO. Ric could be anywhere, and that's who he called.

He remembered the stomach pumping. That was fucking awful. The tube went up his nose, down his throat and into his stomach, and he could feel that when they took it out, they'd scraped him. He'd probably see blood in the tissue for the next week when he'd blow his nose. His throat felt raw and his stomach felt like he'd taken one too many of the ladder hits at MITB.

Just like the last couple times this had been done to him, he'd been placed on his left side with his chin down. He'd been just conscious enough to help out the doctors, by holding his chin to his chest at a certain point and by swallowing on command to assist in sending the tubing down the esophagus and into the stomach. It was at that moment that he wished he never called Ric..it fucking hurt. Had he been completely unconscious, the doctor and nurse would've probably gotten the tubing in in under a minute. It would've been easier. No way could he give a guess on how long it took, the pumping of his stomach..they kept doing it until the contents ran clear. And it hurt like hell. And he'd still have to drive to RAW, and act like this never happened.

"Ric, no," he'd said as the nurse told them that Randy (or, in this case, "Reid Flair," as Ric had admitted Randy under Ric's son's name, even though much of the emergency personnel knew that this was Randy Orton) would have to be held for 24-hour observation and then a psychiatric had changed hands. That's where it got blurry. But Ric made the observation period and the need for a psych consult to go away.

Randy's eyes opened and he saw that his phone was in Ric's hands, and Ric's eyes were closed. He looked at him, could see Ric had aged since they'd seen one another last, and what was Randy going to do? He had to trust Ric. It was like making a deal with the devil but there were no other options, especially since this devil knew what the hell he was doing.

"What's this going to cost me, Ric?" Randy asked hoarsely. The tube had really done a job on him and talking and swallowing, even breathing hurt.

Ric, at least, was upfront about it. "Well, kid, it's not a little sum we're talkin' about. To buy you out of the 24 hour hold and the psych evaluation, that cost me a fortune, and of course, there'll have to be something for my time and trouble. You're doing well these days. A lot better than me."

He was considering asking for Randy to influence Owen Cena to the TNA side, but quickly shot that idea down, instead going for the cash. Ric was being sued for $40,000 from Ring of Honor, had a large bankruptcy case that had gone through and still had some other debts.

"At least a million, Randal. At least."

Randy winced, from swallowing on a raw throat and because of the number Ric pitched. While Randy, yes, made in excess of two mil a year, it wasn't like he saw all of that in cash.

For those who don't know, WWE talent aren't like people who hold regular jobs. They don't punch in and out and get paid by the hour or any of that shit. Nope. They're "independent contractors." And by being independent contractors, they pay their expenses as they go. Some guys, like Randy, got liberal reimbursement. Other guys, say, like Zack Ryder, had to pay everything out of pocket and didn't get things like hotels and flights on the WWE's reimbursed dime.

There was Maria Kanellis, whose first year in WWE had a salary of $45K. She spent almost twice that in road expenses and ring gear and hairstylists..it was crazy. You had to spend money in this business to get anywhere.

Ric was a classic example of living beyond one's means.

Randy had his investments and things but didn't have a million liquid cash like that, not that he could just say "Here, Ric," and hand him a big-ass cardboard check like Publishers Fucking Clearing House Sweepstakes or some shit.

He also knew Ric was extorting him.

"Ric...please be reasonable. I can't give you that all at once. I can probably free up about a quarter of that without anybody noticing. Hell, IRS laws say you can't give anybody more than 11 grand a year without being gift taxed on it."

How Randy knew to say that while laying there after having his stomach pumped, he didn't know. He was exhausted and he was indebted to Ric,but a million dollars was something Randy couldn't do. Not that easily.

Ric stared coldly at Randal citing IRS gift law. If Ric knew anything, it was how to avoid IRS taxes. (Although he'd had trouble with them, he was learning more about how to avoid trouble with them.)

"You fail to realize that the IRS also says that you can begift anyone up to 1 million dollars as a one time gift during your lifetime without penalty. So stop fucking with me and tell me what you can do for me." Gone was the caring nature and on was the threat of telling everyone who'd listen what happened tonight.

The nurse came in and offered Randy something for the pain, and he took it gladly. It was Dilaudid, his drug of choice when in the hospital, and it killed the rawness of his throat and allowed the edges to soften. When it was shot in through his IV, it actually, once it hit, made his abs radiate for a few seconds, from deep inside, like someone stoked a fire. Then it would hit the back of his neck in a heat that made his eyes roll back and his head tilt. At moments like that, he understood how guys like Jeff Hardy could get hooked on shit.

When the wave subsided, he looked at Ric and assessed the situation while exhausted and under medication.

He couldn't offer to do a TNA appearance, taping or endorsement or Vince would fucking kill him.

He couldn't offer Ric merch, to sell, because that too could violate WWE guidelines.

It had to be cash.

"I can come up with 250 liquid..and if I sell my stock, I can get about the same. A half-mil is all I can do, Ric. Please." He knew Ric wasn't fucking around, but neither was Randy. He wasn't going to sell off any more assets besides his portfolio, nor was he going to alert the IRS or Sam or anyone. For Ric to be instantly flush with cash, word could get out. A half-mil was a lot less devastating than a full mil. "I could sell it or just transfer it to you."

Ric thought about the offer. He didn't think long, though, because part of him did have to consider that Randal was 30 years old now. He was no longer the 24 year old big kid of Evolution that he was molding and could manipulate as easily. While Randal's weakness was his instability, just like his uncle Barry, Randal was also a little smarter than he gave himself credit for.

Randal could also afford a good attorney and go to the police and get Ric charged with extortion, if he wanted to. Of course, everything could and would go public then, and then the "Viper" wouldn't be as bankable.

Ric accepted the offer in the form of:

"You'll wire the money before you check in at the arena in Tulsa. Then you'll transfer the stock to me and send me the confirmation numbers of both. If this isn't done by 5:00 in the afternoon..which gives you just around 12 hours, Randal, I'm going to Vince before RAW goes live."

Randy nodded his acceptance of the offer and drifted to sleep.

He slept hard for 4 hours, and come 10am, he was being assisted back into his clothes. Ric had taken a cab out of there, and Randy, technically, shouldn't have been allowed to drive, but Ric had taken care of that, too.

Money sure as hell -does- talk.

The IVs were capped off, then removed, the hospital bracelet bearing Reid's name and pertinent details cut off with a scissor, and Randy was on his way in the rental car. His eyes were bleary, even though the eye Dave punched no longer hurt thanks to the pain shot that still had some lingering effects. His cell was dead and he didn't have the car charger with him, so it was a very quiet ride until he reached Tulsa 5 hours later.

Randy checked into the hotel like a zombie. He should've gone to the arena first..it was already 3pm, but had to get a shower and try to get some life back into him. His phone was also charging for a little while.

He did his damnedest to not remember the events leading up to the hospital, and by now, the pain shot did wear off. The bleariness was from little rest, a lot of stress, and the fact that he was now late for RAW.

He had the app installed on his phone to move money but this was a sum he had to go to a bank in person to do. The stock, he could move with his phone, so did that as he was driving.

There was a bank branch on the way and Randy did have to sign some documents to make sure the money got wired.

He then notified Ric.

And with that, he'd go to the arena, possibly catch hell for being late and just look at the hell-giver blankly. The sleeves that Ric found offensive-looking and "defiling" or whatever to Randy's body hid the IV bruises.

He was in the locker room with his bag, and sat on the bench for a few minutes, trying to get his head together and yet, at the same time, not think.

(end)


End file.
